


All In Your Head

by Yulicia



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Huxloween, M/M, Supernatural Elements, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yulicia/pseuds/Yulicia
Summary: Ben Solo usually hated ghost tours and when Rey had begged to come with her on a tour of Tarrytown, the home of the fabled Headless Horseman, he'd agreed with some reluctance. He figured it'd just be a boring historical tour. What he hadn't expected was to meet the actual Headless Horseman, a creature less monstrous than the stories told.





	All In Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> While this is ultimately based around the original story of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow I've made some obvious changes to get it to fit with the characters and also taken some liberties in some places that story doesn't delve into.

When Rey had originally suggested a historical ghost tour of Tarrytown Ben had immediately refused. He simply had way too much to do; his boss needed this month’s finance report by the end of the week, the rent for his apartment still needed to be paid, he had to find time to organise a lunch for his Dad’s birthday before it got too late and he had to deal with his disappointment at Thanksgiving and he needed to do laundry. He simply didn’t have the time to be running around a random town looking for ghosts. Or spirits. Or whatever the thing Rey was so opposed with here was. He didn’t even believe in ghosts. So he’d said no. Nu-uh. There’s no way.

But then Rey had battered her eyelashes in that infuriatingly sweet way that she always did when she wanted something and promised that she’d help get Han off his back about the lunch thing so he’d had been forced to say yes to her. He really hated his cousin for having that power she had, the one that made him want to do whatever she said.

He was, however, deeply regretting his choice now as he sat in the crowded tour bus that smelled overwhelmingly like mildew beside Rey who would not _stop talking_. 

“…And then Ichabod ran across this bridge to get away from the Horseman, hoping to escape him but—Ben, are you even listening to me?”

Ben nodded. “Mhm.”

Rey looked at him with one eyebrow cocked, unconvinced. “Then what did I just say?”

“You’re up to the part where the Headless Horseman throws his head at the schoolteacher.”

Rey was silent for a moment. “Alright, guess you have been listening. Are you really not interested in this story?”

Ben knew he might be walking into a trap here and chose his following words carefully. “Of course I am. I just don’t believe in it.”

Rey sighed, a small puff of air rushing from her nose. “You don’t have to believe something is real for it to be a good story.”

Ben turned to Rey, smiling forcefully. She was smiling back through it seemed insincere.

“I guess not,” Ben conceded.

Rey fell back into her story, the story of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow, a fierce some spirit that killed without a second thought, a story Ben had heard enough he was positive he could tell it word for word on his own. Ben mostly drowned her out, only catching familiar snippets of the story. He was  focused more on the vibration of the bus and the hum of the engine.

Ben felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he leaned forward to reach inside. He clicked the home button and the screen lit up, showing a text from Leia.

_Be careful. Look after Rey. Love you xoxo._

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it was his mother worrying about him. He was twenty-eight, he could look after himself and Rey, nineteen, could certainly do the same. Ben had seen first-hand what happened to people who messed around with his little cousin. They usually found themselves with a nose a lot less intact that it had been before they’d screwed around with her.

“Who’s that?” Rey asked. She was leaning over, stretching her neck to try and read the text on Ben’s phone. Ben instinctively pulled the screen against his chest, pressing the off button as he did so.

“Mom,” he said, “Just checking up on us.”

“Oh. Okay. Tell her I said hi.”

Rey leaned back in her seat, huffing a breath. She took a peak out of the window. Ben’s eyes followed her, but he couldn’t see anything. It was too dark outside and all he was met with was his own face in the reflection of the glass.

Jesus, he looked rough. He’d not been sleeping well the past few weeks and that seemed to be taking a toll on his body. He looked exhausted; heavy bags under his eyes so purple Professor Plum would be proud. He ran a hand down his face, hoping to clear the bleary look in his eyes. It was only marginally successful.

Ben was startled as the bus came to a sudden stop. The brakes of the bus wheezed as they stopped and there was a clattering from the front of the bus as their tour guide untangled himself from the drivers seat.

“Righto, ladies and gentleman, we have arrived! If you’d be so kind as to follow me off the bus,” the tour guides bellowing voice shouted down the length of the bus.

There was a tight shuffle as all of the other twelve people saw themselves off of the tiny bus. Ben very nearly stepped on another man’s foot but avoided it at the very last second. He already hated this.

The tour guide, a porky man whose hair was white and thin, was waiting for them outside. He briefed them about the history of the town and a quick safety talk. Ben mostly wasn’t listening. He was too busy looking around into the forest that lay before them. It was dense with trees, the space between them pitch black and foreboding. An owl hooted from a faraway tree and the tree branched rustled with the flow of the chilly night time air. It gave him the creeps.

The tour guide led them straight into the forest, warning them once more not to stray too far from him. He’d given them all flashlights to borrow, the little silver rim engraved with the letters _TTGT – Tarrytown Ghost Tours_. Those flashlights served as their only light beyond the moon within the forest.

It was about ten minutes into the tour when Ben felt a sharp pain in his ribs.

“Ow,” Ben said. He looked to Rey, seeing that it had been the point of her elbow that had jabbed him. “What?” 

“We should go in there,” Rey whispered, pointing out into the forest.

Ben took a glance at the tour guide. The spot she was pointing at was to their left, well off of the designated path. Ben hesitated for a moment.

“We shouldn’t stray from the path.”

“Oh, come on, Ben,” Rey whined, grabbing at his arm and pulling. “It’ll be fun, trust me. This guy is taking us nowhere interesting.”

Ben took a deep breath. “It’s not safe.”

“Psh, sure,” Rey said, “It’s a park in the middle of the night. We’ve been in plenty of other parks in the middle of the night. This one will be fine.”

Ben looked at Rey, seeing her looking up at him, her eyes gleaming. Ben felt that pull in his chest again, the one that had landed him in this situation in the first place. The Rey he saw in front of him wasn’t the nineteen year old spitfire Rey had grown into but the little girl in pigtails that had clung to him when he’d babysat her for Luke and they’d watched a horror movie both of them were way too young to be watching. Ben sighed heavily, unable to look Rey in the eye.

“Fine,” he conceded, “But if anything goes wrong it’s all on you.” It wouldn’t be - he’d absolutely take the hit for it - but he liked to pretend.

Rey jiggled excitedly on the spot, seeming as if she wanted to literally jump for joy but was holding back. She likely was. There was a huge, bright smile across her face.

Rey took him by the arm, dragging him away from the group as quietly as she could and into the forest. She had been giddy at the start but the further they got into the woodlands the dimmer her spark got. This route was just as boring.

“Damn it,” Rey huffed.

There was a cracking of a twig to their right, far, far deeper into the woods.

“What was that?” Ben asked. His skin was beginning to gooseprickle, his hair standing on end.

“I don’t know. We should check it out.”

Ben faltered for a moment. If there was something truly out there he didn’t exactly want to be running towards it. He’d very much like to be running away from it. He wasn’t keen on dying in the middle of some forest in Tarrytown. That’d be a terrible dull way to go. He was far more interested in dying in some epic medieval sword fight, ideally.

“Rey, we shouldn’t—“ Ben started, but as he turned back to look at her she was already gone. His heart skipped a beat.

“Rey?” He called out, his voice echoing in the now too quiet forest. “Rey?!” He yelled once more and received no answer. “Fuck.”

Ben wracked him brain, trying to remember which way Rey had been interested in going. He narrowed it down to two options and picked him first one, figuring that it might be best to trust his gut on this one.

Ben travelled deep into the forest alone, his boots crackling the autumn leaves below him. He hugged his coat tighter to him, the air feeling colder by the minute. An owl hooted above him, the only sound in the forest beyond the rustle of the trees and his footsteps.

He searched for what felt like hours to no avail. His voice was hoarse from his yelling, his feet sore from walking and his cheek gashed from a stray, surprisingly sharp tree branch that had sprung back to whack him in the face when he’d pushed it aside on his trip. He huffed, his gut heavy. He was shaking, though whether that was from the cold or from his nerves he couldn’t tell. He was furious, angry at Rey for ditching him and angry at himself for letting her get away.

“Fuck!” He yelled, his voice weaker than it had been at the start of the night. His shoulders were tense with rage and as he flung his fist into the bark of a nearby tree his fingers bloomed with pain. He immediately regretted his decision. Now his fingers were probably full of splinters.

Ben looked down, beginning to pick the larger wood shards from his knuckles and throwing them onto the floor with a pained hiss. He had only just begun when he’d heard footsteps coming from the woods.

Ben froze. “Rey?”

There was no response, but the footsteps got closer. It sounded like there were a lot of them. The tour group perhaps? He looked around, but could see no flashlights. He frowned.

“Hello?” He called again.

The footsteps got closer. There was the sound of heavy breathing coming from a clump of trees right in front of him. He stared at the patch, his heart thundering in his chest. He wiped his palms of his jeans, hoping to clear them of some sweat.

A shadow loomed from within the trees. It was massive but Ben couldn’t quite tell what it was in the limited dim glow of moonlight. The huffing continued, the breathing laboured. It didn’t sound human. Heavier. Wetter.

As the figure got closer Ben could see that the figure was a horse. It was dark and powerful, the rippling of muscles visible along its shoulders. It huffed and whinnied, its bridle jangling. The sounds echoed in the dead silent forest.

Suddenly the horse reared up, its front legs kicking out. Ben stumbled backwards, tripling on a tray piece of bark and falling with little grace right into his arse, the flashlight that had been illuminating the figure falling to the ground. He winced, but couldn’t look away. He looked into the horses eyes. They looked red.

As the horse’s legs returned to the ground it spun slightly, revealing there was a saddle and a rider on its back. On the saddle there was a bag swinging on the back of it and a sharp looking rapier sword fitted beside it. The sword should have posed a hazard for the horse but it didn’t seem to mind, nor was its shiny black coat marred in anyway. The rider was dressed in something that looked like a costume, tight white trousers and a tailored red and white coat. Ren’s eyes followed the man from his boots to his shoulder to where his head… where his head _should_ have been.

The rider didn’t have a head.

All that was there was empty space, the man’s neck standing freely without anything to hold. Inky black smoke emanated from the stump curling and twisting with the breeze. Ben bit back a scream, too shocked to truly do anything. He was frozen stock still.

The horse strode towards him, huffing and puffing like a great wolf. Before Ben could try to scramble away the horse’s head was mere inches away from him, threatening to crush him beneath its powerful hooves. The rider’s body was faced towards him, his shoulders hunched. Had he had a head with eyes to do so Ben suspected that he would be facing the brunt of a truly mean stare.

 _Who are you?_ A demanding voice hissed, seeming as though as it was coming from everywhere and no-where at once. _You do not feel like the rest of them._

Ben didn’t have a moment to be confused by who exactly the ‘rest of them’ were before the horseman took his sword from the saddle and pointed it at Ben. The horseman loomed close, his shoulders hunched in threat. Ben didn’t think him being skewed by the actual Headless Horseman was beyond the realm of possibilities at this moment.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Ben Solo!”

 _Ben Solo._ The voice repeated. They didn’t sound as though they came from this place or this time, the accent too clipped to be native.

The horseman stopped for a moment and Ben got the impression that if he had had a head he would have been staring right at him.

There was a jangle of stirrups as the rider dismounted; the sound eerie and unnatural. The leather of the man’s boots creaked at the hit the floor and as he moved ever closer to Ben the smell of musty rot hit Ben’s nostrils. He struggled not to gag.

The Horseman dropped to his knees in front of Ben, seeming strangely courteous enough to know not to tower over him when he easy could have. His shoulders were hunched but it was different than before; deflated rather than poised to attack. It was as if they were bowed in shame.

Ben flinched back as the Horseman reached out his hands. The Horseman faltered, drawing his hand back. The smoke where he head should have been jittered around, as if nervous.

 _Please._ The Horseman said, his voice pleading. Ben felt a jolt of sorrow for the poor creature, just barely underlining his general feeling of absolute terror at seeing someone moving _without a head_.

Ben paused for a moment before nodding, forcing his muscles to lock so that he didn’t flinch away.

The Horseman reached out once more, guiding his hands to Ben’s face. As his hands touched Ben’s cheeks, cupping them, Ben felt a shiver run through them. The Horseman’s hands were icy cold.

The Horseman’s shoulders perked up as he let his hands rest against Ben’s cheeks. Ben distantly wondered if he should be worried about the Horseman sapping his life energy away to fuel his dark power or something.

_You’re one of his._

Ben felt his eyebrows furrow. “His?”

 _Crane’s._ The Horseman replied, _Ichabod’s kin._

Ben could do nothing there but sit in silence, watching the Horseman’s smoke bob with his movement. It almost seemed as though it could breathe.

“Nice to know some family history, I guess?” Ben replied, a nervous laugh bubbling at the back of his throat, fighting to be freed. He swallowed it down along with his terror.

_He killed me._

“What? Crane?”

The Horseman’s shoulders bobbed, the smoke fluttering as though he was nodding.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Ben said, loss for anything more intelligent to say. It didn’t matter, he was literally talking to a dead man and this probably wasn’t real anyway.  He’d wake up tomorrow in his own bed having slept past his alarm and he’d be a little annoyed that he’d done that again but relived this just a dream.

_I need your help._

Ben paused, still acutely aware of the Horseman’s hand against his face. There was such a sorrow in that question. This terrifying monster was asking for his help and he’d sounded like he expected Ben to say no.

“I don’t know. What do you need?”

_Only kin of my killer can free me. If you reattach my head my curse will be broken._

Ben bit his lip. “I don’t- I don’t know if I can do that-“

The Horseman’s hands moved to his shoulders, his freezing fingers digging painfully into the flesh there. _Please! Please you have to help me! I can’t do this anymore- I can’t- I can’t-._ The Horseman stuttered off there. His shoulders began to tremble, the smoke shaking frantically, curling around Ben’s face. Ben could almost feel the decades of trapped agony within the smoke, the cloud thick and ashy.

Ben fought back his instinctual urge to swat the smoke away from his face. “Will anything happen to me if I help you?”

The Horseman froze. _I don’t know._

“You don’t know. Great.” Ben huffed, “Can I have a moment to think this through?”

The Horseman tore his hands away from Ben’s shoulders, folding them neatly in his lap. His fingernails seemed to dig into his skin but no blood oozed from the wound. The Horseman’s smoke made that jittering motion that had seemed like a nod again.

The Horseman leaned back, sitting back on his haunches, some distance away from Ben. He looked uncomfortable, holding a tense and proper looking position. The smoke hang heavy and low. Just looking at the sad creature made Ben feel miserable.

His heart told him to help the Horseman; he sure seemed like he needs it, and it looks like Ben might have been the only one to be able to help him for a really long time. Centuries maybe, decades at least. The great Headless Horseman Rey had told him about, the fierce spirit that had chased a man down and presumably killed him was sitting here in the grass, begging for the help of some stranger, pleading for some release.

 On the other hand Ben knew not to mess around with supernatural things like this. He’d seen too many horror movies to not think twice about helping the strange headless man. What if the curse was an equal exchange, it would take his life and give it to the Horseman? His death wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities and while he wasn’t exactly unwilling to die – in fact he’d almost welcome it – he worried about Rey. And his parents. And even his Uncle Luke. He didn’t know if he could bear hurting them more than he already had. He swallowed thickly at the thought.

“What’s your name?” Ben asked suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

The Horseman’s shoulders rose, his attention caught by the question. His left neck titled, as did his left shoulder, and had the man had a head Ben thought he might have been cocking his head in confusion.

“Do you even have one?”       

_I did._

“You don’t anymore?”

 _The monstrous Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow needs no name._ He seemed to scoff the words.

“Will you tell me your name that you had? The one before you were the Horseman.”

_Hux. General Armitage Hux._

“General?” Ben asked. How old was this guy?

_Of the British Army._

“When?”

_I was shot down by Ichabod Crane in 1775._

Ben was taken aback by that answer. He really should have known looking at the uniform the Horseman – Hux – was wearing that he was a revolutionary fighter.

“Hux-“ Ben started.

The smoke that served as Hux’s head puffed outwards threateningly. _I am Hux no longer. I lost the privilege of my father’s name the moment my heart stopped beating; the moment I failed._

“Cursed? Why?” Ben asked. He was itching to know how something to extraordinary had happened, and he supposed he really needed something to tell Rey when he found her.

Rey. He’d be here for so long and he didn’t know how much time had passed. The night was still dark, however, so he suspected it couldn’t have been long. He just hopped she was okay, but he supposed he had the most dangerous thing in the forest right in front of him, begging at his feet. He felt slightly powerful in his stalling. He really did hold this man’s future in the palm of his hands. He could decide if he wanted to be merciful, or if he wanted to be cruel.

 _Because I made a deal with a witch I shouldn’t have._ The smoke by his neck spiked out once more. _You’re not going to help me are you?_

“I-“

_I was foolish to think you would._

Hux leapt to his feet and strode over to where his horse was standing obediently, ripping his rapier from its place in the saddle. He advanced on Ben quickly, rapier in hand. Ben’s eyes widened.

“Woah! Wait!” Ben yelped, “I will! I’ll help you!”

_I thought you’d come around._

“What do you need me to do?” Ben asked, breathing deeply to quell the surge of adrenaline his body had just received.

Hux walked back to his horse and deposited the rapier back into its holster. He then grabbed the back hanging beside it, pulling the drawstring lose so that he could get to the contents inside.

As Hux turned around he held his head in his hands. His face held a deathly pallor, the skin grey and shrivelled. His eyes were shut and his hair hand in front of his face, the strands a lovely bright orange; the only spot of colour left on his head.

Hux walked back to Ben and then held out his head for Ben to take. Ben cringed, opening his hands ready for the head.

As Hux placed his head into Ben’s hand ever so carefully, as though it were made of fine glass or expensive china. Ben felt the weight heavy in his hands. He felt a little gross to be holding a dead man’s severed head while said dead man stood animated in front of him, his head smoke inky black.

_Place it back onto my neck. It should reattach on its own._

Ben hesitated for a moment.

_What?_

Ben swallowed. “If I die-“

_You won’t._

“ _If_ I die,” Ben started again, snapping this time, “Will you do the favour of telling my cousin what happened here?”

There was a moment of silence before Hux answered. _Of course I can._

“Thank you,” Ben held out the head in his hand, “Ready?”

Hux bend forward, bending his knees slightly to give Ben a better angle to reattach his head. With some effort he hauled the heavy head upwards and aligned the jagged gap between Hux’s neck and his head.

As soon as the head touched Hux’s neck the skin began to stitch back together. The flesh weaved back and forth to close the gap smoke hissing outwards from the open stitches as though Hux was in pain. Hux was completely tense, his shoulders high. As the head reattached it began to regain some colour, the horrible deathly grey warming to a living milky white. The difference honestly wasn’t massively drastic but Ben could certainly see life in this colour where before he saw only death.

Hux suddenly collapsed, his knees buckling beneath him. Ben acted quickly, grabbing at Hux to smooth his fall. In the end he probably hadn’t helped all that much because Hux’s head – reattached now – smacked against the forest ground anyway.

Ben looked down at Hux, whose eyes where still closed peacefully. His eyelashes lay starkly against his skin, the light colouring looking light delicate spider webs. Ben huffed a breath, somewhat still in shock.

Hux groaned beneath him, his eyes fluttering open revealing lovely blue-green. “Where am I?” Hux slurred. He frowned, peering up at Ben. “Are you my angel?” Hux scoffed a laugh, “I didn’t think I’d done enough to be able to see the pearly gates. Father would be proud.”

“I’m not an angel,” Ben said, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Hux’s brows knitted together in thought and then he frowned, his lips tilting downwards. “Gunfire.” He paused a beat. “Pain,” he said, “What year is it? Who are you?”  

Ben heaved a heavy sigh. Hux didn’t remember anything. He didn’t remember being the Horseman. His last thoughts sounded like they cut off right at the moment he had died.

In part Ben was glad Hux didn’t remember that. It must have been so many years of torment and perhaps he was better off free of that pain. But on the other hand…

“I have a lot I need to tell you.”


End file.
